Friday, March 23, 2012

Lately I've been fixated on promotional materials for my two latest releases and luckily I have a wonderful friend who creates book covers and other author friendly items. Her name is Tracy Stewart and she does a wonderful job. She's very OCD about the quality of her work. So, I thought I'd show off the work she's done for me by posting the promotional materials she's created for me lately.

Here are my new postcards and bookmarks. I think they're great and will be wonderful freebies to hand out at book signings and to mail out to readers.

Sunday, March 18, 2012

I just got back from a wonderful KYRW workshop and thought I'd post one of the exercises we did there.
We talked about writing in male and female POV and how writing in those POVs changes your word choices.
The assignment was to write a scene about a woman going to a store to pick something up. Then write one from the male POV.

We all had a blast doing this and some of the scenes written were truly publishing worthy.
Below were mine. I had a blast doing them.
Teresa R.

Female POV

I wheeled into the parking lot of the hardware store and looked
down at the list my husband had handed me. The row of items read like a foreign
language.

What the heck was gorilla glue? If it was glue made from gorilla’s
I was going to raise hell. Poor things.

At a deep rumble, I glance up as a flat bed truck labored by
loaded with wood and sheetrock. I at least knew what those were, But not so
much some of the things on my list.
Surely, there would be employees inside to help me search for them.

I shoved open the car door and snagging my purse from the
passenger seat, exited the car. The late afternoon sun struck the glass doors
shooting my reflection back at me. My hastily gathered hair tumbled about my
shoulders like a sparrows nest. I ran my hands through the mess to smooth it
before I tugged the door open.

I paused a moment to allow my vision to adjust to the change
in light. Row after row of shelves shot back into the narrow space. They seemed
to groan and creak from the weight of the metal implements that cluttered them.
Pegboard lined the walls with tools, belts, and straps hanging from metal
hooks. Saws some big, some small, lay like discarded weapons atop a table to my
right. Their narrow toothy blades looked vicious and hungry.

Didn’t this place have any non-aggressive tools?

Male POV

I pulled up in front of the purple building. I’d
borrowed my mother’s tan Caddy to avoid anyone knowing I’d frequented the
place. Parking my black Dooly in the parking lot would be like renting a
billboard saying Dan's at the toy store.

I sat behind the wheel and watched as several people exited the building. The guys at work would never let me live it down if anyone spotted me here. I waited until a blond strolled by
with a small paperback and got in her car, the last in the lot besides mine.

Once her black Alero disappeared in a cloud of dust from the
gravel parking lot, I shoved the door open and exited the
vehicle.

The bright purple lettering across the door seemed to flash
like neon. The churches in the area had been raising hell about the place. If the local cops raided it while I was here, my picture would be on the six o’clock news and I'd never live it down.

But this is what she wanted for her birthday. I grinned. I'd benefit just as much as she would by buying her what she wanted. Oh yeah.

I dragged the door open, setting the bells tied to the top
jingling. Strolling in with a swagger, I paused just left of the cash register to
peruse the merchandize. Jesus Christ! In front of me on the first shelf was a pink penis at
least thirteen inches long. A motorized pink penis that rotated slowly around
and around. No way was I buying
that for her.

Wednesday, March 14, 2012

This painting is called Meeting on the Turret Stairs by Sir Fredrick Burton.

Not too long ago, I took a workshop taught by Vonda Sinclair. You can check out her books on Amazon from this link. She's an excellent teacher and writer. As one of the exercises in sensuality, she had us write a story about this painting. Below is what I wrote.

Meeting on the Turret Stairs

The scent of burning wood blew
across the battlements from the East. Sir Simon de Gray turned to gaze in that
direction. Like a gray mist smoke slithered along the ground around the sparse
brush outside the castle walls. The discordant notes of metal meeting metal
carried on the wind, disturbing and seductive.

The possibility of their joining
the battle had whipped the younger soldiers into an anticipatory fray. Their
restless pacing along the wooden walkway added an uneven beat to the distant
battle. Had he ever been so young and blood thirsty? His finger found the scar
that cut across his cheekbone to his ear.
Perhaps so.

“Simon.” Adam spoke from beside him. “There is someone waiting for
you on the turret stairs below.”

He turned to lend his attention to
the man. Adam leaned closer, his
voice dropping to a whisper. “’Tis Lady Julianna.”

Simon’s heart thundered against his
ribs. With an effort he controlled his expression. Had she received news of
Cayle?

Reading Adam’s speculative gaze he
snapped. “See the men maintain their posts. I will not be long.”

He strode to the arched doorway
leading to the stairs. As he descended the turret steps, he jerked the metal
casque from his head and secured it and his gloves to the leather girdle
fastened about his waist.

The stairs spiraled downward. The
jingle of his chain mail garments echoed within the narrow space. He kept his
pace measured though the desire to hurry tightened his muscles.

He rounded a
bend and came upon her. Light shown through the arrowloop she stood near
casting a golden glow over her fair skin. Her pale blue eyes rose to his face
as he leapt the last few steps to her side. He grasped her arm above the elbow
and drew her to one side of the opening. “You must be more careful, Julianna.
Should a lucky shot find you--” The idea twisted his gut with pain.

She brushed
aside his warning with a movement of her hand stirring the sweet scent of roses
that clung to her skin and hair. The pleasant smell underlined the odors of
smoke and sweat emanating from his red cyclas. He took a step back lest the
smell offend her.

Her features looked frozen, devoid
of all emotion. “Cayle is dead.” Her lips barely moved.

Her words struck him with the force
of a broadsword and he braced his hand against the stone wall to steady
himself.

“His body was returned with the
last wagon of injured.”

He clinched his eyes closed to shut
out the instant stream of memories and the pain. But still it came, rolling
over him in a crushing wave.

The pressure of her hand upon his
arm brought him back. He focused on Julianna’s face, white and still. He
reached for her for the first time in an eon. Pain and guilt blended inside
him, a torment he had born for too long.

A sob shook her. Her control broke.
She clung to him as her grief spilled forth.

“I’ve loved you both, since the
first time I saw you,” she said, her voice hoarse as the tears eased. She
delicately removed a kerchief from her pocket to wipe her face and blow her
nose.

“I know.” His hand found her braid
and he allowed his fingers to trace the heavy weight of it, and explore its
texture. After four years of wanting her, needing her, the desire to touch her
overwhelmed his resistance. Surely Cayle would not begrudge him this one
comfort.

She drew back to look up at
him. Her face, even ravaged by her
grief, remained more precious than any other.

“I can not lose you both, Simon.”

The openness of her words, of her
expression, eased some of the pain. How long had it been since she had looked
at him without guarding every expression, lest it be misinterpreted by
others? “I will not allow that to
happen. My skill and experience will keep me safe.”

“You can not promise me that.” Her
fingers clinched his stained cyclas.

“I have to keep you safe. It is
what Cayle would want.” He drew a deep breath. “What I want.”

For countless moments she struggle
with her composure. “I do not think I can bear watching you ride out as he
did.” Her voice shook.

“Then you will only watch my
return.”

“Your return.” She drew a deep breath. Her hand shook
as she raised it to his cheek and traced the shape of the scar there with her
fingertip.

That brief, gentle touch fed his
need, his hunger. Cayle had had her for four years. Could he have just one
kiss?

“There is so little time.” Her eyes
traced his face, a hint of desperate longing in her gaze.

Simon bent his head his lips
seeking hers. Jullianna’s arms tightened around him. The chain mail kept her body from his as surely as a shield
had been thrust between them. But his hands lingered on her waist, the slender
line of her back and hips. His mouth molded to hers, touching, tasting her
response before his tongue sought hers. The sweet, aching heat of the kiss went
on and on, a moment, a lifetime.

At the sound of leather shod feet
on the stairs above them, he dragged himself away from her. Jullianna, her cheeks alive with color,
turned away to lean against the wall.

Adam appeared. His gaze settled on
first Julianna then him. “’Tis
time.”

Simon nodded. “Our Lord has fallen.”

Pain flickered across the man’s
face and he touched Julianna’s sleeve. “’Tis sorry I am, m’Lady.”

She nodded, her face still averted.
“Thank you.”

“My brother Cayle said you would be
joining the forces east, Simon.”

“Aye, possibly.” He nodded.

Adam raced up the turret stairs
back to the battlements.

Jullianna bit her crescent shaped
bottom lip. And her gaze probed his features. “Is it he who will decided now to
send you?” She nodded toward the shuffle of Adam’s retreating steps.

“’Tis a sound decision. I have more
battle experience than he.”

Her throat worked as she
swallowed. She stepped forward to
rest a hand upon his arm. The chain mail shielded all but the weight of her
touch. His fingers covered hers.

“Should the Vikings gain the castle
he will use me and everyone here to bargain for his life. This is my home.
These are my people. I will not see them abused because of his cowardice.”

Never before had he seen such
passion or determination in her face and eyes. The urge to touch her flushed
cheeks and test the texture of her skin taunted him.

Sunday, March 11, 2012

Here's my new postcard to help promote Breaking Free and Timeless. What readers don't know about is the many hours we spend trying to get the word out there about our books. So, I'm doing a postcard campaign both physically and digitally.
I've done post card campaigns before. I'm not certain about how effective they are, but if my campaign reaches ten people out of a hundred, maybe they'll tell their friends what a wonderful book I've written. I'm convinced what really sells books is writing a good book. And Word of Mouth. But you have to get people's notice before they'll read the book. And you have to spread the word before they'll know it's out there. So, if you wouldn't mind, I'd love it if you'd help me spread the word.

Favorite links

About Me

Hi:
I'm Teresa Reasor. I'm a retired art teacher, college instructor and now a FULL TIME writer!! I've been published since 2007. My Muse's Musings is dedicated all my writing related endeavors. Books, book signings, some of the research I've been doing for my books and my adventures. I hope you enjoy my blog